


Relentless Death (Or Life?)

by TheFightingBull



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Death, Hurt Jason Todd, M/M, Protective Slade Wilson, Violence, kind of dark?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFightingBull/pseuds/TheFightingBull
Summary: Slade comes upon a mess of a dying bird...
Relationships: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 260





	Relentless Death (Or Life?)

Jason fell to the ground, laughing. Defiantly laughing at every kick or punch sent his way. He sounded batshit crazy, like the fucking clown, but he didn’t care. He refused to cry or howl in pain. He wouldn’t let them hear how badly hurt or scared he was.  
  
Because he wasn’t afraid of them. He was afraid of something so much more than them. Death? Death was easy. It was coming back that terrified him. Coming back in a tight little box without enough air. Coming back in a long, silk lined coffin that was locked from the outside. He didn’t want to dig through six feet of dirt again. Didn’t want to drag himself across cold earth or dampened streets to a hospital.  
  
He wasn’t sure he could, but he knew if it happened again, he’s try. He’d have to try because the alternative would be too horrifying. Dying, possibly over and over again, inside his coffin because his body or soul didn’t know how to stay dead?  
  
So he laughed.  
  
He laughed to keep from crying.

* * *

  
  
Slade Wilson and Death may not have been friends, but they were in fact, comrades in arms. The Terminator took life as efficiently as any grim reaper that may or may not have existed. He walked through that shadowy valley, day after day and night after night.  
  
Tonight the body count had been high. Ten trained assassins, their blood coating his sword, his hands, and likely his soul. He didn’t feel much in the way of remorse or regret; it wasn’t good for business to let human emotion dictate one’s ethics.  
  
He sifted through the bodies for the dog tags he’d need to claim his prizes. He frowned when he looked down at the broken body of a male in his early twenties. None of his targets were that young. Then again, he was sent to kill the group for a reason.  
  
He tutted at the sight and started searching for a wallet or something to identify the body with. He could look over the features but there was so much gore and damage, Slade barely recognized him as human. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if it were some rich brat that was being ransomed, but then, why was he dead?  
  
“Professionalism in this industry has clearly died,” he chuckled to himself.  
  
He hated people that broke contracts or didn’t keep their word. Then again, maybe the kid’s parents or company hadn’t paid the price for his safe return.  
  
Not that it mattered anymore.  
  
There was nothing identifying on the deceased youngster. Too bad. But then, it wasn’t his problem.  
  
He stood up and continued to gather the remaining dog tags. He was headed for the exit when he heard a choke and a gasping sound. It was like a death rattle, but stronger.  
  
He turned back toward the bodies and watched as the unidentified man groaned and spasmed. Slade frowned, sure that while looking for a license or wallet, he’d checked for signs of life.  
  
There’d been none.  
  
A piercing wail of agony and horror echoed through the mostly empty space. The pitch was so extreme Slade actually moved to cover his ears. Like a damned banshee forewarning a death, this man howled as if promising a bloody, vengeful rebirth.  
  
He heard bones snap, crunch, grind and pop into place. Those horrid noises moved him to action. He walked to them man cautiously as he pulled his sidearm, ready to put it back down should the body decide it had a hunger for flesh or something just as absurd as a man coming back to life after obviously being tortured to death.  
  
The young man whimpered and cried as his body literally knitted and pulled itself back together again. Tears streamed down his cheeks as his teal blue eyes stared into the empty space to Slade’s left.  
  
He sighed. He knew those eyes. He forced himself to take a closer look at the man, to really search for what he knew to look for. He knew that streak of blood stained white hair amongst the black locks surrounding it.  
  
“How did you get yourself into this mess, Jace?” he whispered softly.  
  
He gathered the mess of dying or undying man into his arms. “It’s alright, Kid. I’ve got you,” he promised. “I’ve got you.”


End file.
